Buttertea at Sunrise (15 page)

13/01/2006 14:59:14

13/01/2006 14:59:14

F R I C T I O N

arms. I groan and my back starts screaming, then Choden recovers and suspends herself between her powerful arms.

Pema comes to our rescue. Gently she pushes Choden’s knees into a locked position, and holds them there firmly.

Choden is still shaking, but I think this time it is out of fear. She mumbles something which I think is a plea to stop, but I tell her to wait. In my best Sharchhopkha, I ask Choden to look up. No response. Choden is leaning forward onto me, watching her disobedient legs as her muscles try to pull her feet out from underneath her. Again I ask Choden to look up, and at last she lifts her head and stares at the mirror behind me. First surprise, then disbelief and finally joy washes over her face. Gradually, her tension eases, and she starts talking in excited tones to her little daughter Yeshey. I cannot understand what she says, but I know that it is good news. Her words are filled with smiles, and her voice speaks of giddiness and pride. Choden can see herself standing up properly for the first time in years.

A few more seconds of well deserved triumph pass, and then we help Choden back into her chair. She is exhausted but wants to try again. I look at her legs. The continuous ebb and flow of muscle contractions is flinging her legs off the footrests, and her toes splay and curl without any apparent rhythm. Choden might be ready for another try, but her body needs some rest.

A small, frightened face peeps around the corner. Lhamo must have watched our difficult exercise and feels scared now that she will have to face the same trial. I smile. She too has made a lot of progress already, and I am proud of her. With a shake of my head, I wave her in. Not too agile yet with her wheelchair skills, Lhamo crashes against the doorframe a couple of times before she comes to a halt in the middle of the room. I leave it to Pema to direct our stubborn patient to the bed.

113

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 113

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 113

13/01/2006 14:59:14

13/01/2006 14:59:14

B U T T E R T E A A T S U N R I S E

The daily whining begins. I never know if it is fear or pain, or both, that turn Lhamo into a heap of quivering anxiety as soon as she lies on the treatment bed. I can tell from the level of her vocal cords at which point she really starts to hurt, but the background sobs do not seem to have a specific cause; all the same, I cannot take all of the pain out of our treatment.

Upon seeing her X-rays and discussing her left knee with the surgeon, I know that any work on that leg would be an excruciating waste of time. Nothing other than an operation will ever move that knee again. So far, every surgeon has refused to touch her knee. Dr. Kalita says he would try, but in Mongar, we simply do not have the surgical equipment required. I am told to forget about the left knee.

The right knee, however, has minute potential. Though Lhamo’s burn scars are massive, and several surgery efforts were of no benefit, she is young enough that she should be able to stretch them by several degrees. Even if we can never restore her leg to normal, maybe one day I can get it strong enough to support her with the help of crutches.

Anything is better than her present condition.

Pema has designed a strengthening routine for Lhamo’s wasted muscles, and every day after her stretches, we supervise our little patient’s exercises. Through her repetitions, I learn to count in Sharchhopkha:
thur
,
nigzing
,

sam
,
pshi
,
nga
,
khung
, and so on.

Sitting over the side of the bed, dangling her legs, Lhamo reclaims the happy nature of a teenage girl. Her head is always filled with nonsense. Flashing a bright, mischievous smile, she tries to cheat a little, forget a few repetitions. A little scolding or a warning look from us seems to enhance the value of skipping a few counts. To my utter surprise, though, she always completes her exercises. She is far too lazy to strain herself, or overly fatigue her muscles, but she ploughs through her routine in her own time. Some 114

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 114

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 114

13/01/2006 14:59:14

13/01/2006 14:59:14

F R I C T I O N

days it takes hours, and I get the definite feeling that she is prolonging her routine in order to stay with us and have some company.

I can understand her longing for some excitement. The ward does not hold much appeal for a young girl. The times when I have visited Lhamo there, she has always been sitting on her bed, playing with her mother. Mostly, her games are simple. One amusement consists of someone tying some rope into a knot, and the other person trying to undo it. Another favourite is using a little bowl and some small stones to play catch.

Now, however, nothing compares to physiotherapy.

Here, she can explore an unknown creature. Sitting beside me, she questioningly touches my blond hair, wrapping it around her finger or watching it against the light. She observes my blue eyes, comparing them to Pema’s, and voicing her opinions loudly. Gently she feels the pale skin on my arms and stares at my freckles in wonder. She wants to see how I write, how I assess other patients, what exercises others have to do.

She welcomes my attempts at speaking Sharchhopkha

with a delighted giggle, and soon becomes my impatient teacher. Together, we memorise the body parts one by one.

I point at something and she tells me the name of what I am indicating. Then I repeat it. She laughs but will not say it again. I have to try different pronunciations, different ways of twisting my tongue into bizarre positions. I say the same thing repeatedly, until finally I am rewarded by a satisfied smile from her, and we move on to the next word.

When other patients come, Lhamo retreats onto the

vacant bed and watches. Sometimes she continues her exercises but mostly she sits there, with a perplexed look on her face, studying the world of our physiotherapy room.

These four walls have become her second home in the hospital, and whenever she is not in the room, I expect to 115

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 115

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 115

13/01/2006 14:59:14

13/01/2006 14:59:14

B U T T E R T E A A T S U N R I S E

see her face peeping through the windows. Her wheelchair has given her a new freedom, and physiotherapy a new travel destination.

116

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 116

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 116

13/01/2006 14:59:14

13/01/2006 14:59:14

C H A P T E R T H I R T E E N

Are You Feeling

Boring?

I have just returned from the hospital when the telephone rings. It is Dr. Bikul.

‘Do you want to play badminton?’

I am torn between saying yes just to be brave and the overwhelming lump in my throat when I think about the all-male every-man-for-himself attitude during the games.

Embarrassed I excuse myself, admitting that I am not a very experienced player.

‘Please come, you will like it,’ Dr. Bikul insists.

Nervously, I play with the cord of the telephone. I am glad that he cannot see me now. Mustering my utmost courage, I ask if he would like to go for a hike instead.

There is a little pause before Dr. Bikul answers. ‘Well, I’m on emergency duty today, but maybe after five o’clock?’

I am relieved and agree quickly. Thankfully, he does not mention badminton again.

117

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 117

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 117

13/01/2006 14:59:14

13/01/2006 14:59:14

B U T T E R T E A A T S U N R I S E

We meet in front of his quarters and slowly climb the muddy road around the helicopter pad to the bazaar.

Once we leave the hospital campus, the air seems lighter, fresher.

My steps carry me eagerly up the hill. The clouds have moved back in, and a soft, warm drizzle dampens my hair. The road is deserted; reaching the first few houses, I marvel in the calm around me. Only an old man sits in front of one of the shops, faithfully turning a large prayer wheel filled with mantras. A little wooden peg on top of the wheel strikes a bell on each turn, reminding me to include an act of compassion or devotion in the day. The man looks past us somewhere into the distance while his thumb moves bead after bead on the rosary. Never interrupting his prayer, he slides deeper into the corner of the bench, and continues turning the large cylinder with a steady rhythm.

Cling… cling… cling, the bell echoes through the market place, each pause filled with the complete silence of the mountains. Dr. Bikul and I adjust our stride in unison, the mesmerising sound begs us to listen more closely. Slowly, step by step, I can feel my body relaxing.

The bazaar behind us, we again climb towards Kori La.

Lost in our own thoughts, we walk silently into the clouds.

The rain-soaked branches wave at us, and the clouds seem to drift along with our steps, enveloping us in a peaceful cocoon. As if we were the only two people on earth, walking a path which has never been trudged before.

Halfway up to Kori La, we turn back. The rain has

become heavier, and Dr. Bikul in his T-shirt and jeans is soaked through. Still, he seems to enjoy the rain, as if it too were his friend. I glance at him from the side. The stern doctor, who generally looks aloof and ready to fight, has been left at the hospital. Instead I see a young, joyful man, with a merry step who embraces life all around him.

The dark eyes that can blaze with such conceit are now 118

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 118

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 118

13/01/2006 14:59:14

13/01/2006 14:59:14

A R E Y O U F E E L I N G B O R I N G ?

deep and vulnerable, so much more like the ones of a boy, refusing to grow up.

‘Dr. Bikul,’ I start, but he interrupts me with a frown on his face.

‘Please do not call me doctor. I am just Bikul. OK?’ He smiles pleadingly at me.

‘Oh, OK,’ I stutter with a mixture of pride and excitement.

‘Bikul,’ I try out the sound and find that the name rolls softly off my tongue. Then I push myself, for better or for worse, to broach the question that has been nagging at me all day.

‘Why didn’t you come for dinner last night?’ I hope that my voice sounds matter of fact, and that my disappointment will not show through.

His steps hesitate. ‘You mean, you really invited me?’ Do I imagine dismay in his voice? I nod.

‘You cooked for me?’ he asks.

‘Well, I cooked enough for both of us, and I thought that you would come. Did you have dinner somewhere else?’

Now Bikul looks truly upset. ‘Actually, I didn’t eat anything at all. I had to go back to the hospital for a case that arrived from Lhuntse, and then I stayed in my OPD

room and studied.’

Confused and somehow relieved, I am at a loss for

words.

Meanwhile, Bikul studies his feet intently and then confesses, ‘I thought that you were joking.’ He looks at me apologetically. ‘I am so sorry. You waited for me long?’

‘Not that long,’ I lie. Actually, I had wanted to tell him how rudely he had behaved. Last night I had envisioned a stern confrontation, or else decided I should just ignore him today. Obviously I had already failed my first intentions, but now I find myself relieved, too ready to forgive and forget, just to see him smile at me. Has he really gotten under my skin so deeply already? I want to dismiss this as 119

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 119

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 119

13/01/2006 14:59:14

13/01/2006 14:59:14

B U T T E R T E A A T S U N R I S E

ridiculous, and yet, when I look at him, his beautiful dark eyes, I have this urge to reach out, to touch. I wonder what it would feel like if we walked hand in hand… I jolt myself back to the reality of Mongar. If someone was watching us, the gossip mill would run endlessly.

So instead of continuing to admire the two lovely dimples in Bikul’s cheeks, I turn my eyes to the sight of Mongar’s bazaar, and by the time we pass the first houses in earshot, I manage to resume my official attitude.

At Rinzin Tshockey’s shop, we part ways. I still want to buy a few things for dinner, and Bikul has to return to the hospital to check on some of his patients.

‘Bye,’ I whisper a little hoarsely and then repeat it louder to reassure myself and everyone else. ‘Bye, see you later.’

Bikul turns around and waves, and a tiny bubble of joy starts bouncing around in my stomach.

‘How are you today, doctor? Where you and the doctor went?’ Rinzin Tshockey looks at me quizzically. Despite my nervousness, I have to laugh. Of course, I should have known that my every move is an open book to the nosy stares in the bazaar.

‘We just went for a walk,’ I answer honestly, and then quickly comment on today’s new arrangement of the

furniture. Rinzin Tshockey surfaces from behind the laden counter and grins. ‘Nothing to do all day, so I look after shop.’

That much seems obvious. He has somehow relocated all the goods and food into the left side of the store, and built a little bar with a table and a few chairs on the right. Already a couple of older, skinny-legged villagers occupy half of the seating arrangement. Satisfied, they chew betelnuts, each cradling a nearly empty bottle of beer.

‘Not much to do in Mongar, isn’t it doctor?’ complains Dema, Rinzin Tshockey’s wife. ‘So boring here.’

120

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 120

Buttertea at Sunrise_PROOF.indd 120

13/01/2006 14:59:14

13/01/2006 14:59:14

A R E Y O U F E E L I N G B O R I N G ?

Then, as if she understands how miserably unexciting my life
must
be, she says, ‘Come, we go to see my friend Choden Karma.’

On the way to her friend’s house, we pass Mongar’s petrol station – a prehistoric hand pump, which (on good days) will dispense some petrol to the desperate driver. A big blue Tata truck pulls up beside the pump, and a group of boys immediately surrounds the gloriously decorated vehicle, viewing the worn tires and dented bumper in awe. Dema and I skirt several puddles filled with rainbow coloured gasoline rings. The entire vicinity of the station reeks of diesel and kerosene.